


Anointed

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Glorification and idealization of suicide, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: The world believes he stole her away, dragged her to his own personal hell. Perhaps he did, but she eventually followed willingly, with her heart full of love. And now, with the world closing in, they make the ultimate sacrifice to ensure they stay together for eternity.Influenced by The myth of Hades and Persephone, though more figuratively than literally.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58
Collections: Where Gods Dwell: A Dramione Fest





	Anointed

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags. This is a definite UHEA. 
> 
> I just wanted to write a little something to add for this fest. Short and haunting. That being said, I’ve decided to expand this and make it the last chapter of a current WIP of mine.

**Anoint**

_ Abducted. _ The world beyond their safe haven believes he abducted her.

_ Cursed.  _ Some believe he’s cursed her into loving him. Her mother, her former friends, her enemies all search the globe for the vanished war heroine, forever lost to the sea’s compelling tug.

_ Brainwashed. _ If it wasn’t a curse, it must be his silvertongue that leads her astray.

His eyes meet hers when she enters the room, partially bathed in the soft glow of the low-flickering lantern. Shadows mar her otherwise pristine flesh, though her features are Dark for a palpably different reason. He gives her a smile, genuine and true, though his nerves are frayed and his thoughts repugnant. Tonight is the night.

_ Soulmates.  _ He’s never given much thought to such foolish notions. Not before  _ her. _

_ Lovers.  _ Bodies, fitting together in an intricate pattern, curves and contours aligning intimately.

_ Hearts.  _ Given so wholly, handled so tenderly, treasured so fiercely.

She crosses the room, the floorboards creaking under her bare feet. Her hair is wild like the night, scented with the smell of sea spray and hyacinth. Her hands reach behind her back, slipping buttons through loops before her body is bared to him, one final time. Her smile is impish, playful even, despite what they face.

_ “We’re coming for her.”  _ He’d rather die than give her away.

_ Words _ . Harsh and unforgiving. The world is caving in—their world—and there’s nowhere to run and no one to turn to. 

_ Alone _ . The two of them, interweaving their bodies into one beast. Utterly alone; not an ally to speak on their behalf.  _ Always. Always. Alone. _

Her hands brush along the exposed porcelain of his skin, nails scratching and digging as life-giving air fills her lungs amidst her Little Death. His movements are slow, purposeful, each one whispering his love for her, screaming the finality of their moment.

Ragged breaths mingle between them, the taste of peppermint and tobacco shared, an age-old recipe. They lie, limbs curled, his smoke unfurling in the air above the bed, hazy and falsely inviting. A few stolen moments.

Time is a cruel bedfellow, pressing down on their chests with the weight of their choices. When the time for action draws closer, he laces his fingers with hers. A reassurance that he will be at her side forever more.

They rise, covering their nudity. He straightens the shoulder of her dress, too many sizes too big with the malnutrition and stress of being hidden away. Her eyes grow watery as the grave enclosing them, drowning any hope for a fairytale. She takes his hand and pushes the door open with a brush of her knuckles.

Tumultuous winds funnel around them, lifting the hem of her dress and knotting her curls. His cheeks burn and lips crack, bitter cold biting at them. The waves crash with all the force of a tempest. Barefoot and determined, he leads her toward the fortress of water, crumbling repeatedly along the shore. Foam slithers over the sand and the broken edges of seashells tear at the calloused soles of their feet. 

He turns to her, cupping her cheek gently as she pushes her fingers to rest within his in a tented fashion between them. Matrimony was never in their future. Their fate is written in the stars, burning in every fold of their brains. It would always come to this, with friends and foes alike caging them like trapped animals, scared but defiant.

Turning his head to look out at the aqueous palisade hugging them as only a wrathful, scorned lover could, the roaring of the waves beckons them hungrily. From within the pocket of his tattered overcoat, he pulls a cloth of white and within lies two rings of alchemized gold. Simple. Plain. Telling. She takes the larger of the two as he plucks the small one from its nest.

Minutes are eating away at them, piece by piece, until their breathing is forced and their shaking has nothing to do with the penetrating iciness. Declarations of love are spoken in hushed, apologetic whispers, only the crashing waves to bear witness. Magic, long dormant, crackles between them—a fiery electricity—as the rings fit to skeletal fingers. Bound as one, with an eternity to be spent forever entwined stretching before them, they turned toward the rocky cliffside.

The ascension is laborious, the waterlogged air drowning them with every fragmented breath. Her dress catches under her foot, her knee beating painfully against the limestone, blood trickling and staining the white skirt crimson. He pauses, his grip on her hand tightening as he looks over the edge of the cliffs. _Only on their time._ _By their choice._

There’s a stitch in his side once they reach the peak, a gnawing pain in his abdomen. He marvels at the feel of it, relishing the last bit of life filling him. From the top of the world, looking down over the waves repeatedly smashing against the cliffside, the sound is a deafening cacophony of thunderous promise. The gulls, fraught with the severity of the moment, have gone silent; alabaster specks against a maelstrom of clouds. 

Glimmers of light catch his eye and they both glance down toward the cabin, the domain they’d called home for only a short time. There is a crowd drawing down on the structure, bright blasts of light as doors and windows are busted through. One individual happens to look up, exasperated that his fugitives have slipped between his fingers like sand in an hourglass. Seemingly catching his eye from afar, the man points, excitable. Grains collecting in a glass with all of the gumption of a black hole once more. His transient outlaws are trapped, there’s nowhere for them to run. They are finally at the edge of creation.

She steps closer to him, her fingertips absently turning the ring on his digit as they gaze down at the turbulent seas, the crests of the waves enticing them as a mother’s open arms. 

Immense guilt gnaws at him then. He is responsible for dragging her into his personal hell—the innocent. He’d dwelled for so long in the Dark, muddled corners of his mind, that he is only just allowing the consequences of their plan to dance behind his lids. The last of the oxygen is entering her lungs, thinning the air around them, her chest rising and falling with each movement. He is dizzy, suddenly frightened of such heights. 

Commotion down below as the foes rush in their conquest, hoping to apprehend them at long last. She looks at him, a sad smile gracing her delicate features, and his heart clenches painfully. She gives him a small nod and takes a single step forward. Pebbles loosen and fall over the edge, tumbling with growing speed toward the ravenous sea. She closes her eyes, lifting her face toward the churning skies, cherishing their last moments. Reserved. Courageous. 

She shows no qualms in executing their plan to the last detail and she scoots an inch closer to the edge, refusing to lower her gaze. As a loud voice booms, coming ever closer, she grasps his hand tightly. His fingers begin to turn violet with the force when she gives it a shake, grounding him. He follows her lead, closing his eyes, allowing the weight of the heavens to settle on his chest and drape across his shoulders.

When the voices come close enough to discern actual verbiage, she puts her toes over the edge, counting under her breath until, at last, the culmination of their time on Earth draws nigh. The Great Anointing awaits.

It surprises him. How weightless he feels as the Earth’s sighs hammock them, ensuring one last moment of bliss.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



End file.
